


A Little Fall of Rain

by iviscrit



Series: Rainy Tomorrow [3]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Baavira (implied), F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:47:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3835828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iviscrit/pseuds/iviscrit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the successful annexation of the United Republic and Baatar's death, Kuvira takes measures to numb the pain of her loss. Sequel to "If Tomorrow Never Comes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Fall of Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beech27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beech27/gifts).



> Sequel to “If Tomorrow Never Comes,” in which Baatar dies in ep11 and a deliberate juxtaposition to “Political Affairs,” in which Baavira dances in the rain like a blissful engaged dictator couple.

Kuvira hated rain.

She hadn’t always. In the past, a little fall of rain had excited her. The rumble of thunder overhead awoke a part of her that had become increasingly dormant on the reunification warpath, that wild, untamed part of her personality that moved her feet to dance and moved her heart to her throat. Baatar had said that the rain was like her, a force of nature, that it made sense to see her so much more alive—

No, she couldn’t think about that. Not now. Not yet.

A week had passed since the funeral and the United Republic was hers and the Empire was officially reunited and it was finally time to celebrate and for what? Instead of celebrations, there were flags flown at half-mast and mourning instead of a wedding.

She had planned his funeral alone, undisturbed, the circles under her eyes dark against her pale face. Her bed was cold, but she couldn’t bring herself to add an extra blanket. Baatar had always complained about the extra layer, having a higher body temperature than her, and instead declared himself her personal furnace—

Kuvira slapped herself, hard. Her knuckles struck her jaw and she felt the fractal-cut diamond of her ring break skin. “Stop,” she commanded, her voice unrecognizable from hours of disuse. It was a hoarse croak, all authority and steel, devoid of what little softness it had once held when speaking on certain subjects or to certain people. It was a voice that made her think of rubble and burning flesh and the beloved face, the face with the left cheek split open and the eyes glassy beneath shut and bloodied lids—

“ _Stop._ ”

“Commander?” It was Xi. “Is everything all right?”

“Perfectly,” Kuvira said. “The empire is completely reunited and Republic City is ours.”

“Kuvira,” her army general said–now her new vice president, she reminded herself with another pang—his voice was gentle. “We can delay the meeting for another hour, if you need us to.”

“I did it for the empire,” she said without thinking, “and I’ll hold the meeting for the empire, as planned.”

“You need time to gri—“

“Dismissed.” Xi bowed before he left her, and Kuvira locked the door with a gesture. She felt in control. Or perhaps she just felt alone.

She wasn’t quite sure of the difference anymore.

She could hear the clap of thunder and the steady beat of rain upon the roof. Her ring was cold to her finger, and she brought it to her lips before placing it in the drawer of the desk. Her fingers brushed the warped frames of his glasses as she did. She only shuddered a little.

The last time it had rained, she and Baatar had tested the new armor. She could almost feel his arms around her even now, if she closed her eyes and imagined hard enough. Every passing day made it a little more difficult to imagine his touch. The Great Uniter accepted it as a welcome development, while the grieving fiancee screamed and cried and threatened to implode in protest.

Kuvira did neither. She suppressed it all, and kept herself numb.

The meeting wasn’t for another hour and her armor came apart, showering the floor with metal strips and the clunk of her epaulettes. And she was out the door, her boots splashing in the rain as the rush of torrential downpour filled her ears and water peppered her skin and the cold numbed first her face and then her heart. The sky was grey and lachrymose, the rain like a never-ending barrage of tears. Her hand went to her face as water trickled down from her hair to the hollows under her eyes. It came away wet. It didn’t make a difference, one way or another.

The leather of her shoes would lose its finish the longer she splashed through puddles, but the entire world had become a watery mess and she walked on, her hands thrust deep into her pockets as she picked her way around the buildup and mud. Each step took her further from camp, and each step brought her closer to her desired destination. The water seeped through her coat, through her shirt, through every layer she was wearing until she might as well be stripped bare, the cold piercing every fiber of her being and her body slowly giving in as all its warmth was leeched away.

She didn’t know how long it took for her to give up her attempts to conserve heat or preserve her boots, but after a point she gave up.

Water soaked through the leather, the seaming growing swollen and grey as the finish washed off with every step. Her tights were waterlogged inside the boots and her thighs were speckled with raindrops, her jacket darker than she had thought possible, the lining a wet layer that clung to her skin and chilled her. Her bun was a soaked knot at the nape of her neck, dripping tendrils alternatively slapping her and sticking to her face as she walked. She didn’t remember breaking into a run, but she stopped, shivering and deathly pale, once she arrived at her destination.

Kuvira had sculpted the shelter from a sandstone reserve the last time their army had made camp, and she and Baatar had left it standing when they departed, her in the death machine and him in the airship. It was the last place they had stood together, unseparated by layers of unfeeling platinum. It was the last place he had kissed her, her back to the molded sandstone and his palms hot against her cool face. Now there were only her own hands, shaking from a combination of fatigue and cold, her sodden gloves tucked into her pockets as her drenched uniform sapped whatever warmth remained in her body. She started back for the camp, her shins protesting each step. The pain seemed appropriate. She knew she could always earthbend to expedite her return, but each ache and twinge of muscle felt like a well-deserved penance. 

In the past, she would have referred to the downpour as a little fall of rain. Now, each drop that fell was a reminder of her loss; each drop that marked her coat was a badge of weakness. The overcast sky wept, shedding the countless tears that her eyes were too empty to produce, mourning Kuvira’s loss in a way she no longer could. The Great Uniter was unmoved by a little fall of rain.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Sorry guys. Lots of this is from a journal entry, and I was like mmmmm I gotta use that one line. So… yeah. …hope you enjoyed?  
> Beech27, thanks for giving me major feels and just being hella cool in general. Hope you liked it, man ☺


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